Author's Note:  This, I must admit, is a somewhat slow chapter.  It is necessary, however, so please bear with me.  Don't worry, action will be coming soon.  Thanks for all of your wonderful reviews!  They make me very happy :-D

Nimoë dressed herself quickly in her clothes from the previous night, for that was all she had in Legolas' home.  Their home, she corrected herself.  By Elven custom, they were now husband and wife.  The consummation of love was not a thing undertaken lightly, for it meant a commitment for a lifetime.  An eternal lifetime.  Again she smiled.  Two lifetimes, in some cases.

Once she was clothed, she walked swiftly towards the Healing House.  The sun shone bright in the early morning, and she refused to think on the dangerous quest she must undertake so soon.  Instead, she breathed deeply, enjoying the scent of the air rising off of the vast inland sea.  It was cool and moist, wrapped with hints of salt.  Núrnelven took all of its drinking water from the clear river that rolled rapidly by on its way to the sea.

Nimoë heard a familiar sound and looked up.  High in the eddying updrafts, a hawk circled.  It had been a long time since one had been seen, for birds did not often chose to fly over the tainted land of Mordor.  A broad grin split her face.  It seemed that nature itself wished her happiness in her new life.

Turning her attention from the golden hawk, Nimoë crossed the last few feet to the Healing House.  As she was about to enter, the shutters of the window next to the door were flung open.

Tinunél looked out from the inside and smiled at her foster daughter, beckoning her inside.  "Nimoë!  Come in.  Where did you stay last night?  It is as well that you left, for Caldarion was quite agitated.  He sleeps now, so you need have no fear for him."

 Nimoë went inside and hugged her mother.  "Mother.  I have so much to tell you."

Tinunél looked down at her with an arched eyebrow, as if perhaps she suspected some of what she would be told.  With a firm grip, she led Nimoë to the back corner that was cordoned off by a thick blue drapery, to serve as a dwelling for the two Elves.  Once behind the thick curtain, she motioned Nimoë to the chest of drawers.  "Find some clean clothes.  You will feel better when you are wearing something fresh."

Nimoë moved instinctively to obey her mother.  So very different from Glorfiane… my first mother.  With her new memories of her previous life had come memory of her first family, and the woman who had first brought her into the world.  She had been very flighty, for an Elf, so full of her love for the trees that she often forgot about such mundane things as eating and sleeping.  On more than one occasion, Nimoë had gone hungry, but she did not grudge those times.  Glorfiane had loved her in the best way she knew how.  By sending her to Galadriel as soon as her talent had become obvious.  What had become of her?  She would have to ask Legolas next time she saw him.

Answering Tinunél's statement that she would feel better, Nimoë laughed.  "You might think I need cheering, but you are sorely mistaken."  Pulling a simple pale yellow gown, the color of ripe wheat, over her head, she shook her hair to swirl it around her shoulders, then began to pull the thick strands into a tight braid.  As soon as that was done, she took Tinunél by the hands and settled her onto her bed.

Standing in front of her beloved foster mother, holding her hands tightly captive, Nimoë dropped down onto her heels, wanting to be more of a height with her.  "Mother mine, I love you.  I know I have not said that often enough, but I want you to know it now.  For the time has come for me to leave your home."  A smile like sparkling dew crossed her face.  "I have joined with Prince Legolas."

Tinunél moved to respond, but Nimoë hushed her.  "There is more, Mother mine.  I know not how to tell you this, so I suppose it is best to say it simply.  I am not only your foster daughter, born of Mendiel of Mirkwood.  I have been born before.  My parents were Naldor and Glorfiane, also of Mirkwood.  I was apprenticed to Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien, where I learned to master many aspects of the Elfsong."

Unable to stop the words, once they were begun, Nimoë plowed onwards, over her foster mother's attempts to speak.  "I traveled with the Fellowship of the Ring at the end of the third age.  There I knew the Prince.  I loved him, and he loved me.  With my new memory, and this knowledge and understanding, we felt no impediment stood to our union.  Sadly, we were denied our love in my last life.  I was slain."  She shuddered at the memory of the poison coursing through her body, and the agony of knowing that she must leave her love.

Tinunél placed her fingers over her dear foster daughter's lips to silence the flow of words.  "Nimoë!  I know these things.  I have known since the day you summoned the Eagle.  I have been waiting for the time that you would remember.  That you would join with Legolas.  It has been inevitable from the moment he found you lost in our woods."  She took Nimoë's face in her hands and pulled her forward to kiss her softly on the lips.  "I am so very happy for you.  I know what love is, and I know the joy that it brings."

A shadow flashed across her open face.  "Nimoë, will you be going to Orodruin?"

The young Elf nodded and rose, turning away, suddenly serious.  "I must.  The fate of the Elves, and the other children of Ilúvatar, rests with me."  She sighed.  "I would not have chosen this.  I have no wish for adventure, for responsibility of such a grave nature.  Yet it seems I have no choice."

She turned back again and regarded Tinunél's stricken face.  Wanting to ease her fear, Nimoë smiled.  "Be heartened!  I have remembered my training just in time.  At least now when I come to the Chasm of the Void, I will have an idea of what I must do.  My chance of success has multiplied tenfold."

"Ten times nothing is still nothing."

Nimoë grimaced.  "Do not say such things.  Legolas will travel to that fell place with me.  I trust him with my life.  He will keep me alive long enough.  He must."

Regarding the stoic determination in the young Elf's face, Tinunél subsided.  Really, along with the others, she had no choice.  She must surrender her daughter to her fate.

Legolas sent Telarion off to bring Nimoë to the north watchtower.  He wished for privacy for the meeting of his beloved and their new allies.  It was not common knowledge among the Elves that she carried all of their hopes on her slim shoulders, and he wanted to keep it that way as long as possible.

With thoughtful gaze, he regarded his companions.  Gilmin reminded him so much of Gimli that it hurt, an actual physical pain of remembrance in his gut.  His appearance, his voice, even his mannerisms were a mirror image of his ancestor.  In a way, that gave Legolas new hope.  Gimli had been a valiant companion in danger.  Hopefully Gilmin would prove to be just as invaluable an ally.

Raven, on the other hand, perplexed him.  In his memory, Hobbits were cheerful, jolly folk, or, at worst, not aloof and acerbic.  The young Hobbit leader held himself straight, but with an air of stay back written in his stance.  Legolas felt no doubt that Raven was quite skilled with his short sword, which had been returned to him, but was that enough?  Could he be relied on?  The Elf was wary for, in such an undertaking, there could be no hesitation in trust.  He resolved to speak to Gilmin alone as soon as could be managed, to learn more of the remote, brusque Hobbit.

Almost before he was ready, they reached the watchtower.  Legolas dismissed the young Elf who had been stationed there, and she left, her jaw gaping in wonder at the Dwarf and Hobbit.

Once the adolescent Elf was out of sight, Legolas led the other two after him up into the watchtower.  From the height, all three looked out towards the rumbling mass of Orodruin.  Gilmin stroked his beard with his fingers, pondering the dangers of their journey.  "A Balrog dwells there, you say?"

Legolas nodded, the memory of his last encounter with a Balrog, deep in the Mines of Moria, not far enough away for his comfort, although it had happened centuries past.  "I do not like the idea of encountering such a creature, so I hope that we will be able to escape detection.  Caldarion will aid us in that."

"There is a woman coming," spoke Raven, who had turned to look back towards the settlement.

Legolas looked down and his heart turned over in his chest at the sight of Nimoë approaching, her long braid swaying with the rhythm of her strides, and her dress appearing to be part of the light of the sun.  "Nimoë!" he hailed, "Come up.  I have guests for you to meet."

She nodded her understanding and hastened her stride.  Before a minute had passed, she reached the crest of the stairs.  Her jaw dropped open and she gasped in wonder, "Gimli?!"

The Dwarf swept her a low bow.  "Nay, Lady, although I am honored that you would mistake me for my ancestor.  My name is Gilmin."

Sensing the ceremonial feeling of the meeting, Nimoë dropped him a curtsey.  "My name Nimoë.  I am honored to know you."

Her attention then fell to the ebony haired Hobbit.  "And you, master Hobbit.  How may I call you?"

Rather than answer her question, Raven turned to look up at Legolas incredulously.  "This frail thing is the bearer of our hopes?  She looks like a breeze would blow her over!  How can she expect to endure the rigors of the journey, let alone have hope of completing the task?  This is a foul joke…"

The Hobbit's words were suddenly silenced, as he found his neck perilously close to the point of the Elf Prince's sword.  There was cold ice in the clear blue eyes as he glared down along the blade.  "I caution you, Raven, never again speak disparagingly of this woman.  She is stronger in body and spirit than most men I have known, braver than you, who would issue your venom on a woman, and fierce in her loyalty.  More than that, she is my wife.  If you wish to live, you will show her respect."